


sweet dreams (내일 만나)

by londoneyedgirl



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drabble Collection, Fist Fights, Fluff, Gen, Jongin-centered, M/M, Sex, lapslock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-14 16:59:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16916775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/londoneyedgirl/pseuds/londoneyedgirl
Summary: jongin-centered drabbles that could or not become longer stories.3rd: jongin/taemin;"There’s something mesmerizing in watching Jongin fight."





	1. favorite hyung; jongin/junmyeon

**Author's Note:**

> title from exo-cbx's song of the same name.

“who's there?” jongin asks, sleepily, more out of curiosity than anything else. he hears shuffling, but still he doesn't open his eyes; not even when he feels the bed dip behind him.

“your favorite hyung, who else?”

jongin has half a mind to bite on the inside of his cheeks, holding back the potentially huge grin that was threatening to appear on his face. “mmm, you sound different, chanyeol hyung.”

he hears a huff behind him, a chuckle perhaps, and the weight starts lifting off the bed. jongin's still not quite awake, but he knows he doesn't want his true favorite hyung to leave, now. he reaches blindly for the other's hand, finding it in what he considers true luck, and tugs gently. he doesn't have to do it for long before he feels the bed dip again. this time, however, his favorite hyung lies down behind him and curls his body against jongin's, hand brushing jongin's thigh softly on its way to jongin's waist.

sighing, jongin decides he's awake enough to open his eyes. he turns his head only slightly, just enough that he can press a peck to the tip of his favorite hyung's nose. “hi, junmyeon hyung.”

junmyeon chuckles, warm breath hitting the back of jongin's neck. “hi, my favorite brat.” he says fondly, and slides down his hand so he's wrapping his arm around jongin's waist.


	2. monster; jongin/sehun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in the darkness, sehun feels himself be kissed. those lips are pillowy, full, and taste like blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by the monster mv, of course. i was going to write something longer, but my inspiration didn't feel like it.

in the darkness, sehun feels himself be kissed. those lips are pillowy, full, taste like blood. a sigh instantly leaves his body, along with the tension that's been stringing his muscles. his eyes are cuffed behind him, but it doesn't matter; it doesn't matter that there may be a spy; it doesn't matter that they have been caught.

because he'd recognize those lips everywhere, anytime. he knows he's not alone. he's in the company of the person he'd wish for, had been wishing for. it brings him peace, that presence. he knows that with jongin he can do anything.

-

right now, jongin fucks like he fights: he works his hips fast, his hands tight on sehun's bony hips, and his face buried into sehun's neck, focused. sehun’s mouth has fallen open, slack, not being able to articulate a word, can't think of anything that isn't jongin's name. they're sweaty, and they need a shower stat, but it feels good, like this. jongin's hair is dirty, so dirty, and sehun runs his hands through it, tugs on it hard until jongin's sucking into the skin of his neck, marking him with a hickey that will, no doubt, end up bigger than he expects and take long to fade. sehun moans at the thought.

he comes on his own stomach, and jongin fucks him fast through the aftershocks, comes right after when sehun clenches around him, tight and warm and hot.


	3. water and air; jongin/taemin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s something mesmerizing in watching Jongin fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> random au.

There’s something mesmerizing in watching Jongin fight.

He moves as though he’s dancing, flowing as he spins and attacks one enemy at a time, and were Taemin not also as busy as Jongin is, he would probably spend hours just following Jongin’s movements with his eyes, the way Jongin’s focus lasts for so long, how his attacks are calculated and how the blood he drew from one rival ended up on another’s chin.

Jongin rarely gets hurt on his face. It’s like even those he’s fighting against agree that that’s too beautiful of a face to hurt, seems like they can’t really bring themselves to ruin such beauty. In the off-chance that one does go for Jongin’s face and he doesn’t manage to escape it, he often sports a busted lip, but that doesn’t seem to make him any less beautiful.

In those rare occasions in particular, Taemin feels like stopping it all and digging his fingers into Jongin’s hair, pulling him closer and crushing their lips together so he can taste blood and sweat in his mouth, on his tongue, his own bruised, bloody hands staining the alluring pink color of Jongin’s hair.

Instead, Taemin watches from where he stands, sneaks a peak every time he can, when he allows himself a split-second of Jongin’s dance. It’s two against four, against six, against ten. They end up victorious each time. Bloody fists and sprained limbs, at times, but they always come out victorious. If they were ever to talk about it, they wouldn’t be able to explain how they do it. Taemin would sarcastically offer that, perhaps, they have a guardian angel. Jongin, to himself, would believe that it’s the inability of one letting the other perish that drives them. Maybe they are each other’s guardian angels.

Jongin hasn’t always had a taste for fighting, Taemin knows. He liked drinking until the morning light came, liked spray painting the walls of subways, liked breaking bottles with baseball bats. The fighting came from Taemin. And like Taemin is an addiction to him, so did the fighting become.

Taemin had always thought that he was the most beautiful thing that had ever been in that underground fighting ring. He’d fight shirtless, or wearing a sleeveless shirt, previous experiences having left their mark on him on how too much clothing could hurt more than help. No earrings, tight pants and firm combat boots on his feet. One proper kick and a broken nose was certified.

Taemin took Jongin there on that first night with his head on making Jongin fall for him, unaware that Jongin was already in love with him. But when Jongin stepped onto the ring right after him, and made a mess of a surly old man who spat when he threw Jongin all sorts of homophobic remarks, it was Taemin who ended up falling in love.

As the night came to an end and they left, bloody lips burning to find each other’s, the same man who’d been beaten by Jongin had come for a rematch with his friends.

That man left with, besides his bloody face, a broken arm, and his friends sported split lips, bruised jaws and cheekbones, swollen eyes and broken noses. In some sort of modern art painting, their blood mixed with the dirt and the few amounts of car oil one the floor making for the perfect picture of what love in the twenty-first century is capable of.

Taemin never wanted to fight alone again. Not that he would ever have to, if Jongin had any say in it.

-

Jongin is like water. He's adaptable, malleable, refreshing to the touch; he's persistent, as capable of staying still as he is of constant movement, and unafraid of change. He fucks Taemin and each time is new, like he's trying to seduce him still, like he's trying to convince Taemin to stay as though he even has to. He fucks Taemin with their fingers intertwined, his mouth on Taemin's, whole body covering his lover’s with his broad shoulders and long frame.

When he thrusts into Taemin, there'll be no denial of it: Taemin writhes, gasps, begs even though he doesn't have to, shhh, I know what you need, I’m right here, I’ll give you everything. He digs his nails into Jongin's skin, crescent moons on thick gold; he sucks onto Jongin's bottom lip till it's dark and swollen and bruised - his own, special brand of demanding and begging at the same time and with no other words spoken at all.

Taemin is like air. He can bring a sense of peace and lightness like no other, makes Jongin feel at home, makes a smile show on anyone's face without even trying a lot. But he's also wild, howling and aggressive and even painful when he's defending himself, unstoppable if he must be so.

When Taemin fucks Jongin it’s a surprise each time, lips on lips and on skin and on the curve of Jongin's jaw and on the dip of Jongin's collarbone. He kisses like he fucks, and each kiss is different from the one before, always fresh, always new. 

Taemin fucks with desperation a lot, weakly held in by the mask of control he tries to carry through life, a control he barely has but wishes so much to achieve - control over his emotions, over what happens in his life, over what will become of his future. He fucks like he wishes all could stay the same, and change it all at the same time. Among that endless desire for change, Jongin's the one constant he wishes for.

-

They don't patch each other work in the mornings - they do that at dawn, before they fall asleep, so they won't wake up to dried up blood and annoying headaches, among other things. In the mornings, they part.

From late morning until early afternoon, Jongin has class; since then and until early evening, he studies. His business economics major diploma may come in earlier than he thinks, his professors tell him often, too fascinated with his grades and already beyond aware that they aren't cheats - two or three out of them tried to catch Jongin, and instead they had nothing except nearly aced exams and Jongin's humble bows.

In the night, Jongin lets go of the perfect student facade and slips into a hoodie he's no longer sure whether it's always been his or if was Taemin's. At night, he goes out and lives.

From dawn till late mornings, Taemin sleeps. Then he works until late evenings at a 9/11 that barely gets any clientele and if he has five people walk through the door on a day, two are just lost and only one buys something. He's still paid the same as any cashier at any 9/11, for less work than any other. It comes in handy, although he makes enough money betting on himself and Jongin on fight nights.

Taemin doesn't go to university out of choice. Jongin used to berate him for it, but eventually he realized Taemin didn't care for any of it, and stopped. He still reminds Taemin of his intelligence and potential every once in a while, though, and Taemin indulges him because Jongin looks beautiful when he's hopeful.

It reminds him of the way his mom would look at him when he’d talk about dance. The way she'd listen at him talk about courses and classes he wanted to go to, until his father vetoed dance out of his future and out of their vocabulary.

Nights are for Taemin to slip into a reality that's outside of the one that gets the light of the sun to shine upon it. Nights are for Taemin's need to crush and to be put back together, and for his quiet desires to struggle trying to reach the surface. 

Their nights are spent together whether they're going fighting or not. The best nights - beating fighting together, even, which Taemin will never admit to thinking like that in broad daylight - are the ones in which they just drive around in Taemin's car, get McDonald's at two in the morning, get drunk on the roof of Taemin's building until the sun’s peeking out from the horizon. Those are the best nights, and they last until Jongin has to go to sleep or go home, mumbling about an essay he's yet to finish and about internships offers he's yet to decide on.

-

There’s something mesmerizing in watching Jongin fight.

Each night that goes by, Taemin gets more and more aware that he's one night closer to never seeing that again.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on twitter: @winterjonginnie


End file.
